


a wisp of smoke

by oh_no_oh_dear



Series: tungle dot hell [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear
Summary: You want mutual pining? You got it! You don't want mutual pining? Then... why you here, homie?





	a wisp of smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Samsteve + ... a LOT of suggestions. Tumblr came thru! 
> 
> NOTE 1: I'm gonna keep it real, it's been a little discouraging to write lately because Samsteve isn't getting as much love nowadays* but I love them too much to really give up, SO.
> 
> NOTE 2: I kept some of the descriptions vague during the sex scene; you can read Sam as trans or cis. Your choice. 
> 
> *i might also just be a shit writer, T B H

The fourth time in a row that Sam got them separate hotel rooms, Steve couldn’t help but feel a little miffed.  
  
    “I’ll quit washing my socks in the sink,” he joked as Sam handed him his room card, but despite the ‘You a damn liar, Steve Rogers’ eyebrow raise, Sam barely acknowledged the comment with anything other than a faint smile. That was troubling. Sam wasn’t a smiling automaton; he had his bad days just like anyone else. But he’d been getting a little more withdrawn lately, grimly focused on the mind-numbing task of trying to follow unlikely leads. Steve wasn’t the best person to broach the topic of emotions with anyone, ever, but Sam seemed down, and he was worried.  
  
    “You okay?” he tried. Not terribly eloquent, but he figured that keeping it simple would lessen the chances of him saying something stupid. Sam didn’t look up from rifling through his dusty duffle for his last granola bar.  
  
    “I’m tired.” Sam’s voice wasn’t clipped per se, but there was something a little walled-off about the way he was talking. Now, Steve was really fucking good at running through walls, but he didn’t think that was a great strategy in this case.  
  
    “Hell of a long day,” Steve said companionably. Sam just nodded jerkily. Then, he seemed to relax just a fraction when he straightened up.  
  
    “They’re all long days, man. I’m gonna hit the hay; try not to stay up until 4am watching puppy videos again.” His mouth twitched a little, the warm humour that Steve was so used to showing for just a second before his expression shuttered again.  
  
    “It’s your fault for introducing me to YouTube,” Steve grinned. He clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder and Sam stiffened, moving away so smoothly that if Steve hadn’t been so attuned to their bro-y touch-y feel-y body language from the last 5 years, he wouldn’t have noticed. But there was definitely something wrong.  
  
    “I probably shouldn’t tell you about the series about puppies getting trained to be service dogs, then,” Sam said over his shoulder as he turned and walked to his room door. Steve groaned because obviously he was going to stay up watching those damn videos; he opened his mouth to say as much when the little _beep_ of Sam’s door unlocking interrupted him. With a halfhearted wave, Sam disappeared through the door and eased it behind him. Steve felt oddly deflated as he shouldered his own duffel and walked past Sam’s door to his own room. A man without Steve Rogers’ super hearing wouldn’t have caught Sam’s shaky sigh, or the quiet yet vehement _“_ Jesus _fuck_ ” that came from behind Sam’s door.  
  
Not even puppy videos took his mind off Sam pulling away from his touch. And the Googles didn’t help answer “I know you think it’s creepy that I can hear through walls but you haven’t been sleeping lately, are you okay?”  
  
The Googles had a lot of advice on how to confess your love to your best friend, though. A fair amount of it boiled down to “Don’t.”

* * *

  
Sam was late for breakfast, which was unusual. He also sullenly fixed himself a cup of herbal tea instead of coffee, which meant that he’d had another sleepless night. Weaning himself off of 3-4 cups a day was hard on the guy.  
  
Steve wasn’t the most chatty guy first thing in the morning, but Sam’s silence was so noticeable that he felt the need to fill the void. Sam often took a little longer to wake up than Steve did, but he was usually more upbeat than this.  
  
    “Sleep well?” Steve asked as he poured a generous helping of sugar into his coffee. Sam rubbed at his eyes and yawned widely before answering.  
  
    “Did you know that there are videos of people putting on makeup using toast?”  
  
Steve frowned slightly. Was Sam referring to a me-me, one of those strange internet jokes that spread like wildfire and then died out a week later?  
“Nnnno?”  
  
    “There are videos of people putting on makeup using toast. And shoes. And headphones.”  
  
    “You stayed up all night watching YouTube?”  
  
    “I stayed up all night watching YouTube,” Sam confirmed. He looked it too, droopy and puffy-eyed and listing dangerously towards his plate of rubbery-looking pancakes.  
  
    “Want some of this pineapple?” Steve asked, gesturing towards the definitely-past-its-prime pineapple chunks that had constituted the ‘fruit’ portion of their complimentary continental breakfast. Sam grimaced, shook his head, and then suddenly sat up so fast that the semi-fermented fruit almost went flying out of its bowl (which would have been no great loss.)  
  
    “ _Shit._ Can I borrow your laptop, Steve? I forgot that mine got melted on Wednesday.” Sam closed his eyes briefly.  
“What even is my life that that’s a normal thing to say?”  
  
    “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think the squidtelope was aiming for your laptop,” Steve said, keeping a very straight face as he scraped margarine across cold toast.  
  
    “Because it was aiming for my _face_ ,” Sam said. He seemed even more tired now, but was almost smiling. It was a start.  
  
    “Mighta been jealous. It’s a good face.”  
  
    “Shut up, Rogers. Too early for your bullshit.”  
  
    “How’s that caffeine-free diet treating you?” Steve asked pleasantly. He didn’t know how his occasional feeble attempts at flirting had gotten folded into their ‘joking bros who joke and are bros’ routine, but he couldn’t do much about it now.  
  
    “ _Shut up, Rogers.”_  
  
Steve took a pointedly long sip of his coffee, and pretended that the lingering look that Sam gave him wasn’t solely centred around his lust for caffeine. A guy could dream.

* * *

  
Steve hovered awkwardly by his own room door, watching Sam tap away at the laptop keys.  
  
    “Should I go?” he asked again. He desperately wanted to stay, wanted to be near Sam when they weren’t undercover or punching a bad guy’s lights out. But he felt like he was intruding, even though Sam insisted otherwise.  
  
    “I’m just lookin’ up our next route, nothing needing privacy,” Sam was saying now. He didn’t turn his head away from the laptop screen, but Steve could still tell he was smirking.  
“ _I_ won’t get any porn pop-ups on your computer.”  
  
    “That was– look– I was _curious_ , I didn’t know about computer viruses–”  
  
    “You’re full of shit,” Sam said mildly as he scrolled through a list of suggested driving routes. He knew that Steve loved to play up his whole ‘old young man who doesn’t understand technology’ schtick. It was mostly bullshit.  
  
Steve just muttered under his breath, but he shuffled back into the room. He didn’t know why Sam had been in such low spirits last night or that morning, but if he was back to teasing Steve, he’d take it.  
  
    “So... what was with the sour mood earlier?” Steve said suddenly. Because he was an expert at subtlety and tact, you see. He was almost relieved when Sam didn’t answer at first, hoping he’d been spared the consequences of his bluntness.  
  
    “Just in my feelings, don’t worry,” Sam finally said. Steve tilted his head in a way that would have been utterly endearing, if Sam had been looking his way.  
  
_In his feelings._ That one wasn’t too hard to figure out from context. Sam was… feeling down. Which confirmed exactly nothing. Sam was good at smoothly dodging things he didn’t want to talk about. Steve was good at being stubborn. It was like a weird tango between them sometimes.  
  
    “Is it your dad?” Steve asked gently. This got Sam to finally turn to look at him, his dark eyebrows drawing together.  
  
    “My dad?”  
  
Steve gestured nonsensically with his hands. “Well, he… ah. You said he’d passed…”  
  
    “I fucking hope he did, since we buried him over a decade ago.”  
  
    “That’s really dark, Sam.”  
  
    “Eh, he’s _my_ dad. I deal with his untimely death how I want,” Sam shrugged. He graced Steve with a small smile to let him know that there were no hard feelings, but he also folded his arms. Steve knew his body language well enough to know that Sam was deflecting, but not shutting him out.  
  
    “Is it Riley?”  
  
Sam’s lips pursed and he gave Steve a narrow look. “Not everything I’m sad about is Riley-related.”  
  
    “Sorry.” And Steve was. He wanted to help Sam so badly, wanted to know what was wrong so he could help shoulder the burden, that he was being a little more pushy than he ought to be.  
  
    “On god, that sad puppy look… it’s fine, Rogers. I’ll get over it. Just… this, being stupid.” Sam pressed his fingertips to his own chest, where his heart was. Steve frowned a little.  
  
    “You having heart trouble? Should we go to a doctor?”  
  
Sam looked at him for a long time, and the smile he finally forced was small and very sad.  
“Not the medical kind.”  
  
Oh. _Oh._ Aw, hell. Sam was in love. With who?  
  
    “Anyone I know?” Steve asked, ever a glutton for punishment. If his best friend had fallen in love with someone, Steve was going to be supportive and happy until it stopped hurting so fucking much. Why was he always too late? Why had he gotten so complacent with what he’d had with Sam, with their easy joking, shared late-night coffees, lingering hugs that Steve had apparently read all wrong? _Fuck._  
  
Sam still hadn’t answered.  
  
    “Sam?”  
  
    “Let’s not… do this. I don’t want to– let’s drop it.”  
  
    “Oh. Well. Sam, I just want you to know – you know you can talk to me, uh. About this kinda thing. If you want.”  
  
    "I don’t. But thanks.”  
  
Steve tried not to look as hurt as he felt. He clearly failed, because Sam leaned forward and squeezed his shoulder in a way that made his stomach clench. Every touch meant so much more and so much less, now.  
“Steve, don’t take it personally. I’m not ready to talk about it yet. With anyone.”  
  
Steve nodded his understanding, pretending not to notice Sam was clenching and unclenching his hands. Whoever it was that Sam was pining after was really doing a number on the guy. Steve tamped down a surge of bitterness at himself. _You got a real knack for missing chances, Rogers._  
  
There was an awkward feeling in the air, so Steve cast about for something to say to lighten the mood. He wanted to know more about whoever it was that was causing Sam such quiet agony, but he shouldn’t keep poking that bruise. As much as he wanted to.  
  
    “One memory that makes you laugh. Go.”  
  
Sam finally unfolded his arms and gave Steve a look that said he knew exactly what Steve was trying to do, but it was paired with a small smile. He was grateful. Sam stretched his back, shaking out his hands as though he needed to get the feeling back into his fingers.  
  
    “Steve, this ain’t lit class.” Sam’s tone of voice made it clear that he’d play along, even if Steve _was_ clumsily using one of his own distraction methods against him.  
  
    “Got any better ideas to kill time?” Steve asked, and _oh god_ he hadn’t meant it that way but all of a sudden he did mean it that way. Sam gave him a look that Steve couldn’t quite parse, and it took everything in his power not to lean across and run his hand down Sam’s arm in a way that left no doubt about his feelings, but. Sam was in love, and he was hurting, and Steve may be reckless but he wasn’t an asshole.  
  
    “I got a couple, but most of them involve me being really hungover tomorrow, and we got a long drive.”  
  
    “So responsible,” Steve teased. Sam grinned, full and proper and Steve felt just a little bit proud that he’d been the one to make it happen.  
  
    “Okay. Shit. Good memory… mmm… wait, did I ever tell you about the time I nearly got concussed by a coconut?”  
  
    “Is that a song title?”  
  
Sam laughed pretty hard at that. Steve listened raptly as Sam told him all about one of his visits back to his parents’ Caribbean island, how one of his older cousins had dared him to go pick a coconut instead of waiting for the vendor to come by, how Sam had very briefly experienced the joy of flying when he’d fallen out of the tree, and how fast his cousin had run to try to escape Darlene Wilson’s wrath.  
  
    “... and then he kept leaving me mangoes on the breakfast table every morning ‘cos he felt so bad,” Sam finished, wiping at his eyes. Steve wasn’t sure how Sam nearly breaking his scrawny ass (Sam’s words) was that funny, but his friend seemed to be in good spirits again. He’d take it.  
  
    “I bet you could show your cousin up now,” Steve grinned. Sam snorted in amusement.  
  
    “Devon would still talk ‘bout how he faster than me.” Sam smiled gently. “I haven’t seen him in _years_ , not since daddy’s funeral…” Sam’s smile faded a little. “Damn. Sometimes it just hits you, y’know?”  
  
    “What does?”  
  
    “I miss him. I just suddenly thought, 'I should give him a call.' Fuck, he'd know just what to say.” Sam wasn’t looking at Steve now, and he was blinking a little too often.  
“He gave good advice. He’d say sum’n like, _Eh, den why yuh a worry bout bu’n yuh hand an yuh not ev’n pick up di pan yet?_ ”  
  
    “Uh…” Steve was casting about for a polite way to say that he understood about 60% of what Sam had just said, but Sam suddenly stood. He almost made the motion of wiping at his eyes look natural, like he was sleepy. (Steve knew him too well to be fooled.)  
  
    “That was his way of telling me to stop worrying about things I haven’t even done yet. I… okay. I’m just in a bad headspace tonight, man. I appreciate you trying to bring me out of it, but I’m gonna head to bed early.”  
  
    “You sure? It’s only 6:30.” Steve wished he knew how to help, how to get Sam to talk about what was hurting him so much. He also, selfishly, didn’t really want Sam to go yet. Just a little while longer. Just another half hour, before Steve went to bed and woke up in a world where he knew that Sam’s heart belonged to someone that wasn’t him.  
  
Sam chewed fretfully at his lower lip for a couple of seconds before resolutely shaking his head.  
“I’m gonna throw myself a pity party and watch something on Animal Planet,” he said, sounding incredibly tired all of a sudden.  
  
    “Sure you don’t want company? I’m a real party animal, you know.”  
  
Sam stood up and patted his jeans pockets to make sure he had his keycard and phone on him.  
“Sometimes a guy’s gotta listen to sad music and be alone. Thanks for the offer, man. Really.”  
  
    “Is it about… that heart thing?” _That heart thing. Shakespeare’s got nothin’ on me._  
  
Sam just jerked his head in acknowledgement, squeezed Steve’s shoulder, and waved goodnight before slipping out the door. Like it had been too painful to even talk about it. Steve heaved a heavy sigh and let his head loll forward. Whoever had Sam feeling so low, he couldn’t help but resent them. They didn’t even know what they were missing out on.

* * *

  
Sleep wasn’t gonna come, and he’d seen the ‘Walking with Dinosaurs’ episode that was on TV about 10 times already. Sam fiddled with the zipper of his duffel, painfully aware of how much he was jiggling his leg and how much he couldn’t stop. That had been close. That had _fucking sucked._ Trust Steve to look hurt because Sam was hurting, but being blessedly unaware enough to pick up Sam’s tells.  
  
He finally gripped the zipper and opened his bag almost angrily. There was the thing he’d been agonizing over: the battered pack of cigarettes he’d been carrying with him for longer than his little sister had even been alive. It’d been so long that the company didn’t even make that particular packaging anymore. Sam didn’t smoke. Never had.  
  
    “Fuck.” It was the first thing he’d said since entering his room, and it seemed pretty fucking apt. He held the cigarettes in one hand, using the tip of his finger to smooth at the wrinkled plastic wrap. It still hurt to think about them. About him. Before Steve, before Riley, even before Jon… had been Nico.  
  
Sam was 17, Nico had just turned 18 and was moving back to his home country with his parents in September. Sam never smoked, but still got told off by his mother for coming home stinking of cigarettes. He loved watching the smoke curl from between his first boyfriend’s lips. Loved the way Nico would reach down and stub out the tip when he felt Sam watching him, so he could lean in for a tentative little kiss.  
  
Nico was every bit the cool kid, carelessly handsome, bilingual and smart as a whip, making friends left and right as though he hadn’t just moved to Sam’s neighbourhood only 2 years prior.  
  
But with Sam, he was gentle and slow, kissing him behind the changing rooms at the beach, buying him rum raisin ice cream cones, holding hands with him in the movie theatre. How he had been so unsure the first time they’d had sex, asking if Sam was sure he wasn’t hurting him, telling Sam how good he looked, how good he made him feel.  
  
How he felt like he was falling in love.  
  
And Sam? Sam had been gone from the moment that Nico had looked at Sam with mischievous eyes and asked if he had a boyfriend. Not a girlfriend. Not in the usual mocking way of Sam’s classmates, but because he’d wanted to know. Because he thought Sam – weird Sam who knew a million bird facts, quiet Sam who was only quiet until you really talked to him, Sam who sometimes got into trouble because he didn’t like seeing people get picked on – Nico thought Sam was _cute._    
  
So Sam had held onto Nico’s cigarettes. Through the heartbreak of watching his first love get into a taxi loaded down with suitcases (he’d been quiet the night before, moving against Sam and touching him so softly like he didn’t believe either of them were there.) Through Riley’s death, when he hadn’t even gotten to tell Riley that he loved him back. Through Jon, who had been so sweet and supportive and utterly, utterly devoted… as long as his friends and family never found out.  
  
Through Steve. Fucking Steve Rogers, who was honest and kind and actually followed through with protecting the little guy. Whose crooked smile and fidgety hands gave him away every time. Fucking Steve Rogers, whose hugs were so strong and lasted so long that you knew it was as much for him as for you. Steve Goddamn Rogers.  
  
So, yeah. Sam was gonna feel sorry for himself.  
  
The moon was full, but the clouds didn’t even have the fucking decency to not mostly obscure it. Sam really needed the entire aesthetic to be perfect if he was going to wallow in self-pity on the dirty little balcony outside his glass sliding door.  
  
He grabbed one of the cushions from the armchair before settling onto the ground and stretching his legs out on the rough concrete. He briefly considered thumping his head against the wall, but instead settled for playing really sad music while staring at a two-decade-old pack of cigarettes that he’d never open. He didn’t do it often, but Sam didn’t half-ass pity parties.  
  
[ _i’ve been watching you for some time_  
](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-u5gDCNwTiw) _can’t stop staring at those ocean eyes_

  
Even as he felt his own eyes prick with tears, Sam had to laugh because lord, Spotify was really going in with this one. 

 

* * *

  
Steve felt a little bad for the teenager working the night shift at the Get ‘n’ Jet, the closest 24 hour convenience store to their hotel. She was clearly bored out of her mind, flipping through what looked like a chemistry textbook while her phone occasionally pinged with message alerts beside her. The garish white lighting and inane pop music playing over the speakers couldn’t have been ideal study conditions, but Steve admired her dedication.  
  
    “Sorry to bother you–” Steve said as he approached the counter. She sat up and nodded, too tired to fake a smile.  
  
    “Help you?”  
  
    “I hope so,” he said. He’d wandered out of the hotel after trying and failing to pass a few hours. Steve had almost knocked at Sam’s door to get him to come out for some air, but after hearing the soft music coming from his friend’s room he’d decided to leave him be. Steve just wished he could figure out something he could do to help.  
  
    “I’m looking for, uh… well, I suppose you don’t sell … coconuts…” Steve regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but the girl was at least trying not to smile. He seemed to be good at accidentally amusing people.  
  
    “We don’t have coconuts,” she said with a tinge of _Oh, you idiot_ pity in her voice. “Didja want like coconut water or sumn? We got that.”  
  
    “That might just be the thing,” Steve nodded. After a small grimace, he continued: “I feel almost stupid asking if you have mangoes, at this point.”  
  
    “No fresh mangoes,” she confirmed. “But we got dried fruit. Maybe we got mango.”  
  
He thanked her and went to the refrigerated drinks section to find coconut water. _Oh, god. So many brands. Let’s see… pulp? No pulp? I don’t know this brand, but it says 100% coconut. Wait, does that mean the others aren’t?_  
  
    “Need help?” the girl asked from beside him, making him start slightly. She’d come from behind the counter after watching him stare at the drinks for a good 15 minutes while muttering to himself.  
  
    “I don’t wanna keep you from your work,” he said apologetically.  
  
    “You’re helping me not die from boredom.”  
  
    “Well, in _that_ case…”  
  
She grinned at him and turned back to the drinks display with a business-like air.  
“Okay, you need help choosing a brand?”  
  
    “Yeah. I had no idea there were so many different kinds, to be honest.”  
  
    “There’s a million brands for everything. I feel you.”  
  
    “Do you have a favourite?”  
  
She looked at him with a furrowed brow. “I wouldn’t drink none of these if you paid me. I only drink coconut water from a real coconut.”  
  
In the end, Steve spent almost 30 more minutes there, telling her about how weird bananas tasted nowadays, laughing as she went on a mini-tirade about how sick she was of being told that white chocolate wasn’t _real_ chocolate because she freakin’ _knew_ , thanks.  
  
He left the Get ‘n’ Jet with two laden bags, having bought one can of each brand of coconut water, and at least 10 bags of dried mangoes.

* * *

  
Sam reached over and turned his music down when he heard the _tap-tap-tap_ at his door. Shit, had he been playing it too loud? Sam couldn’t deal with a noise complaint right now, but he supposed he _could_ have been using headphones.  
  
    “Sam?”  
  
Oh. Worse than a noise complaint. Steve. While Sam was still a sniffling mess, with eyes puffy from crying (he’d segued from sad love songs, to his father’s favourite songs, to sad French songs, back to sad love songs.)  
  
    “Sam?” _Tap-tap-tap_ . “You okay?”  
  
With a groan, Sam grabbed his iPod and got to his feet. He stepped back into his room from the balcony, putting the mp3 player on a nearby desk.  
“I’m okay,” he called. His voice betrayed him, sounding hoarse and very much like he’d been crying off and on for the last hour.  
  
    “Can I come in?”  
  
_No. God, yes. Yes yes yes._  
  
    “I dunno…”  
  
    “I won’t stay. I, uh. I got somethin’ for you.”  
  
Sam heaved a sigh and shuffled to the door to open it and let Steve in. Just for a minute. Just because he asked nicely. Definitely not because Sam ached to be near Steve.  
  
    “Sorry ‘bout… alla this,” Sam muttered, gesturing to his dishevelled appearance and puffy face. Steve’s brow furrowed and he put down the plastic bags he’d been carrying.  
  
    “Sam…”  
  
    “Yeah, I know. I said I was gonna wallow, didn’t I?”  
  
    “Aw, hell. You don’t have to talk about it, but can I…” Steve opened his arms slightly and before he could talk himself out of it, Sam stepped into a hug. He hated to admit it, but it was exactly what he’d needed.  
  
Sam tried very hard to ignore the perfect way their bodies fit together, and the quiet love songs still playing from his tinny iPod speakers. He failed. They were practically slow-dancing. Dammit.  
  
    “You said you had sum'n for me?” Sam said, his voice muffled from his face being pressed into Steve’s shoulder. Steve squeezed him one more time and stepped back, clearing his throat. His cheeks were flushed pink, which was...  
  
Wait. _Wait._  
  
    “I got you some snacks from the convenience store,” Steve was saying as he picked up the bags and carefully emptied their contents on Sam’s bed. Sam watched, nonplussed, as Steve put 8 cans of coconut water, and a dozen packages of dried mango snacks on his duvet.  
  
    “Steve, what.”  
  
    “Well, see. I didn’t know which brand was best, so I just… got all of them?” Steve looked up at Sam, and wrinkled his nose.  
“Is it too much? I figured you were a little homesick–”  
  
    “Steve.”  
  
    “–and I know you don’t wanna talk about it, so I’m not gonna, but I know what it’s like to be all twisted up inside because you’re, what’d you say? In your feelings? So I figured–”  
  
    “Steve.”  
  
    “–I know it’s not like the stuff from a real coconut, but maybe there’s a brand that’s not so bad. And Andrea– that’s the girl that helped me at the Get ‘n’ Jet – she said ‘dried mangoes is the same,’ and then she laughed really hard. I think it was a joke, but I didn’t get–”  
  
    “ _Steve._ ” Sam said firmly, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Steve was babbling, which Sam had never really seen get this bad before.  
“Steve. Thank you.”  
  
Dammit, it was shit like this. Going for a night time shopping trip just because he wanted Sam to feel better. It was bullshit like _this_ that had him head over heels for the guy.  
  
    “It’s nothing,” Steve replied. And there was that blush again, the one that Sam was slowly realizing had maybe been something that he should’ve been paying attention to all this time. He’d assumed that Steve was just _like that_ , outside the Captain America role. Sam had never stopped to think that, no. He was _like that_ around Sam.  
  
    “Jesus fucking Christ.”  
  
    “It’s too much, isn’t it. I’ll take them back–”  
  
    “Steve, just– shut up. For a second. Please.” Sam sat heavily on the bed, massaging his temples. He felt like he was trying to solve a simple puzzle. While skydiving. And drunk. And blindfolded. “This is… so much,” Sam muttered.  
  
The bed dipped next to him as Steve sat down, and suddenly a large hand was gently squeezing his shoulder.  
“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.” Steve sounded a little sad as he continued, “You deserve nice stuff, you know? You deserve that, and… and someone that appreciates you. You’re a great guy–”  
  
Sam cut him off by turning to him and giving him a searching look. And very slowly, telegraphing his movements, he took Steve’s hand in his own. Even in the low lights he could see Steve’s blush darken, his pupils get a little wider.  
  
    “Steven Grant Rogers, we are both very stupid,” Sam said slowly. His father would say that a simple way to get an answer to a question was to ask. Dammit. _Dammit_.  
“What’s all this really about?”  
  
Steve frowned a little, even as his fingers intertwined with Sam’s.  
“I… Sam, is this really the best time? You’re hurting over–”  
  
    “Fadda god, I can’t – Steve, over _you._ I’m listening to ‘If I Were Your Woman’ on repeat because I’m hurting over _you._ ”  
  
    “Sam…”  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    “Did I do something wrong?”  
  
    “Wh– wrong? What?” This sure as shit hadn’t been how he’d thought his confession would have gone.  
  
    “I hurt you?” Steve looked genuinely worried, and Sam closed his eyes for strength, because if he’d read this wrong then… yikes.  
  
    “Steve. Remember how I didn’t want to talk about the person I was in love with earlier?”  
  
    “Right.”  
  
Sam gently eased his hand from Steve’s so that he could press the heels of his hands hard against his closed eyes.  
  
    “Think, Rogers. You’re smart. I believe in you.”  
  
A good 30 seconds of silence followed. And then:  
  
    “Holy _shit_ . Sam… Sam, look at me. Please?”  
  
Sam reluctantly lowered his hands. Steve was looking intently at him.  
  
    “I don’t want to make assumptions,” Steve said carefully.  
  
    “Sure.”  
  
    “I don’t wanna seem cocky.”  
  
Sam just raised at eyebrow at that one, but otherwise let it slide.  
  
“Is … uh, is it me?” Steve asked slowly, like he couldn't believe he was saying the words.  
  
    “Mhmmm.” His shoulders slumped as he hummed his agreement, like the air was being let out of him.  
  
    “Oh, thank _god._ ”  
  
    “Thank god,” Sam repeated blankly. Steve was smiling a little, and he opened his hand in an invitation to take Sam’s again. Sam acquiesced.  
  
    “I’d’ve sounded like such an asshole if it wasn't me,” Steve said with a grimace. Sam just kind of stared at him.  
  
And then he laughed until tears came to his eyes again.

* * *

  
    “Is it too soon to say it?” Steve asked as Sam passed him another half-empty can.  
  
    “Too soon to say that this tastes like sugar water and lies?” Sam said, frowning at the coconut water ranking list he was scribbling on a piece of paper. They had spent a long time goofily grinning at each other, hugging each other so tightly that Sam had eventually squeaked for air, bemoaning the fact that they’d been dancing around each other for so long and had never _asked._ And then Sam had decided that they should drink all the coconut water and decide on the best brand.  
  
    “No, the… other thing. That we were being real morons about.”  
  
Sam hesitated and put down the can he’d been about to open.  
“I don’t want you to just say it outta nowhere, Steve. I don’t take that shit lightly.”  
  
    “I don’t take anything lightly.”  
  
    “Now I _know_ that’s a damn lie, No Parachute McDeathwish.”  
  
    “I know you’ll catch me.”  
  
    “Fuck’s sake. Even when you’re being a meathead, you’re romantic.”  
  
    “I love you.”  
  
    “Oh.” That was all Sam could manage, because Steve had said it so naturally, so quietly, and yet it had hit Sam right in the gut like a solid punch.  
  
    “And I don’t want you to feel pressured to say it back–” Steve was interrupted by Sam surging forward into a kiss that was as heated as it was tender.  
  
    “Me too, and fuck you for saying it first.”  
  
    “Didn’t you say you did what I did, only slower?”  
  
    “Oh? You got big talk now ?” Sam smirked before leaning forward and whispering something that made Steve hastily sweep the rest of the cans and bags onto the floor. They’d need all the space they could get.

* * *

  
Sam was an amazing kisser. He was giving and adventurous, soft and pliant with the occasional little nip at Steve’s lips that made his cock jump.  
  
If Steve hadn’t been so distracted by how good Sam’s bare skin felt, he would have happily spent a few more hours just kissing him breathless. But as it was… he was occupied by Sam’s little sighs when Steve had brushed his fingers along Sam’s jawline, down his neck. They were both aching and hard, but in no hurry; even after they’d hastily taken off their shirts and jeans, they’d settled into a slow, sinuous pace. Steve felt like he’d go crazy if he didn’t get to make love to Sam soon. He also felt like he could do this all night. Hell, they had all night.  
  
    “Steve,” Sam said breathlessly as Steve laved his hot tongue over one hard nipple. “Steve, can we– can I–”  
  
    “Anything, Sam,” Steve murmured. He meant it. Every day, all day, for as long as Sam would have him.  
  
    “I want you to fuck me.” Steve sat up to look at Sam, whose deep brown eyes were already focused on him. He was torn; he wanted nothing more, but he also wanted to taste the light sheen of sweat that was making Sam all but glow under the golden light coming from the cheap nightstand light. Decisions, decisions.  
  
    “It’d be my literal pleasure,” Steve finally answered. Sam rolled his eyes slightly.  
  
    “You’re a dork,” he said simply, even as he tried to reach for his duffle for what Steve eventually found out was lube.  
“Okay, I’m trying to find a nice way to ask–”  
  
    “No, Sam. Not my first time doing this with a man,” Steve chuckled. Sam grinned a little abashedly in return. It had been a fair enough question; it wasn’t like he and Steve had really discussed their sex lives.  
  
Steve returned and leaned on his hands and knees so that he was over Sam. He leaned down for another kiss, and Sam moaned as one of Steve’s hands disappeared and the little hitch in his breathing told Sam he’d started stroking himself back to full hardness. Sam was doing his best not to let his eyes flutter shut, but when Steve whispered that Sam should touch himself too, he couldn’t help it. He was already so hard and sensitive that it wouldn’t even take much to get him off.  
  
    “Tell me when you’re ready,” Steve said in a slightly strained voice. Sam opened his eyes and saw that Steve has his own eyes squeezed shut, a slight furrow between his brows. Apparently Sam wasn’t the only one that was close. He let himself feel just a little bit smug about that.  
  
    “Yeah, I think… yeah. Just make sure you use lots of lube, because I’m tryna be able to sit tomorrow.”  
  
    “I toldja, I’ve done this before,” Steve admonished gently as he spread thick lubricant on Sam’s heated and slightly slick skin. Sam willed himself to relax because _god_ , he wanted this.  
  
    “ _I toldja,_ ” he repeated mockingly, more to distract himself from his nervousness than anything else.  
  
Steve paused for a moment before laughing a little. “Did I sound like that?”  
  
    “You sure the fuck did. It was cute.” Sam laughed breathily, but soon was chewing his lip anxiously again. Steve paused in his movements.  
  
    “Sam… you sure about this?”  
  
Sam wanted to say yes. He wanted Steve inside him so bad, but he also knew that sometimes that just wasn’t in the cards. And he was so tense because he’d been wanting Steve for _so long._  
  
Sam sighed, and Steve sat back on his haunches, looking concerned.  
  
    “I want to, but…”  
  
Steve nodded encouragingly, and Sam took a deep breath.  
  
“Can we go back to kissing?” he asked in a small voice. But Steve smiled, bright and warm.  
  
    “Hell, yes.” Steve moved towards him, but stopped himself.  
“Would it make you more comfortable for me to put my underwear back on?”  
  
Sam shook his head and beckoned Steve with a crooked finger. “I want to feel you,” he murmured. Steve eagerly sank back into kissing him, letting him take the lead. Sam felt his anxiety slowly melt away, turning into desire that left him hard and aching again. It was driving him up the wall. He was about to say so when Steve’s hard cock brushed against him and he felt a spark of pleasure lance through him.  
  
Steve stopped. “Are you okay?”  
  
Sam was breathing heavily as he looked up at Steve.  
“I just had an idea,” he blurted. With a bit of awkward shuffling (awkward only because they couldn’t stop kissing long enough to pay attention), they switched positions so that Steve was laying on his back and Sam was straddling him.  
“This okay?”  
  
    “Yes, yes, Christ –” Steve’s pink flush was spreading down his neck and chest as Sam slowly rolled his hips, teasingly rubbing his hardness against Steve’s. It was slick and hot and just slow enough to be this side shy of agonizing. Sam felt more than heard Steve groan, and he leaned forward to kiss and bite at his sensitive lips. Steve was taut as a bowstring, using every ounce of self control he had not to come. Sam had the sudden realization that Steve wasn’t moving much so that his dick wouldn’t poke Sam anywhere he didn’t particularly want. Which was pretty gentlemanly, all said.  
  
    “Steve.”  
  
    “Mm?”  
  
    “I love you.”  
  
    “ _Sam–!”_ And Steve was undone, almost sitting up from the force of his orgasm as Sam kissed him through it.  
“Ahh, _ahh_ , shit… shit, I’m sorry–”  
  
Sam was almost trembling from over-stimulation, but he slowed and managed to grit out “Don’t be fucking sorry, Rogers.”  
  
    “Well, I’m not _that_ sorry.” Steve was still twitching a little, but he gently put his hands on Sam’s thighs.  
“You okay?”  
  
    “Is your dick chafed?” Sam asked bluntly. Steve blinked.  
  
    “Nnno, why?”  
  
    “Because I’m about 0.5 seconds from coming and I want to know if it’s cool to ride your pelvis into dust.”  
  
    “You win for most creative pillow talk,” Steve said flatly, but he pulled at Sam’s hips to encourage him to move against Steve’s softening cock. Sam opened his mouth to say something snarky right back, but he didn’t get the chance. He bit his lip hard and moaned hoarsely because it was almost too much, the added slipperiness, the way Steve was watching him with hooded eyes and slightly parted lips, and how Steve’s strong fingers were pressing into Sam’s hips–  
  
    “I’m– so– close–” Sam groaned. Steve sat up and pulled Sam closer and moving under him until Sam was sitting on his lap. Steve looped his arms around Sam so that they were skin to skin and lavished Sam’s neck and shoulders with kisses. His lips kissed silent promises into Sam’s beautiful brown skin, telling him without words that Steve was in this for real, in this for keeps. Sam heard his own shaky cry bounce off the walls when he finally came, shivering and all but collapsing against Steve’s chest after.  
  
  
  
5 minutes later, the room phone rang. Steve answered, since Sam was still in the stratosphere of post-orgasmic bliss.  
  
    “Rogers speaking.”  
  
There was a long pause as Steve listened to the speaker on the other end.  
“I’m real sorry about that, miss. I’ll, uh… inform Mr. Wilson.”  
  
After Steve hung up, Sam _hmm_ ?ed curiously, having heard his name.  
  
    “Noise complaint.”  
  
    “Haters.”  
  
    “Only lovers here, Sam,” Steve said in a simpering voice. Sam responded by pinching his ass, making him yelp in an undignified way because he was _such a dork._ Steve reached over to flick off the bedside lamp, but stopped. Suddenly shy, he asked if Sam wanted him to stay. Sam told him to get his narrow ass into bed so they could sleep.  
  
Sam felt exhaustion finally pulling at him a little while after Steve had fallen into an easy, loose-limbed doze curled up against Sam’s side. He was even smiling a little in his sleep, which was just over-the-top cute. Dammit, now that he knew it was possible, Sam could tell he was going to be _stupid_ over this man.  
  
Sam was lulled to sleep by the soft patter of rain against his balcony door, Steve’s warmth and the tender new knowledge that his question had been answered with _yes._

* * *

  
In the grey of the early morning, Sam leapt out of bed with a loud swear. He’d left the fucking cigarettes on the balcony all night and it was still raining even now. Steve blinked blearily at him when he returned with his thoroughly wet, thoroughly ruined pack of cigarettes.  
  
    “Wuzzat?” Steve said croakily. He might not have needed as much sleep as the average person, but whatever sleep he got, he relished.  
  
Sam looked a little longer at the rain-sodden package in his hands. He thought about the meaning he’d attached to the cigarettes that he’d never opened. How it had come to represent heartbreak and loss. How despite himself he’d push away people’s help, go home and hold it when he was at his lowest, like pressing his fingers hard against a fresh bruise.  
  
How his love and memories of Nico, of Riley, of even bitchass Jon didn’t live in a 23-year-old pack of smokes. He slowly lay it in the small trash can next to the nightstand, with a gentleness that seemed strange for a dirty old pack of soggy cigarettes.  
  
    “Sam?” Steve said, sounding a little less awake but still concerned.  
  
    “Just getting rid of a bad habit,” he answered softly.  
  
    “Hmm?”  
  
    “Nothing. Go back to sleep, baby,” Sam said through a wide yawn. Steve made a pleased little sound at the nickname, and then he murmured _love you_ as he drifted back to sleep. Like it came as naturally as breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> Which ship do I prefer, Samsteve or Sambucky? The answer is YES.


End file.
